A Rose for Sansa
by Lady of Bones
Summary: (Spoilers up to the end of Storm of Swords) Tyrion asks his wife, Sansa, to join him for a walk in the gardens in an attempt to break through her empty courtesies.


Tyrion invites Sansa to walk with him through the castle gardens. It's a beautiful evening; the sun casts a golden glow on everything it touches, and he thinks that the sight of the flowers in bloom might bring a smile to his wife's face. He hasn't seen her smile since their wedding night, when she danced with Ser Loras' older brother. He has never been able to make her smile.

'My lady, would you care to walk with me through the palace gardens? I hear the roses are finally in bloom,' he says, watching her as she sits by the window in their chambers. She is illuminated by the evening sun, and Tyrion is reminded yet again how beautiful she is. Beautiful, and cold. Her blue eyes are haunted and empty when she turns towards him.

'If my lord wishes it,' she replies, ever gracious and courteous. Tyrion frowns. This is not a good start; he knows she is only accepting his invitation to please him. He almost wishes that she would say no, she doesn't want to walk with him. At least it would be honest, instead of hiding behind empty courtesies.

But he holds out his hand, and she rises and places her hand in his, and together they walk to the gardens to see the flowers.

It is warm outside; a pleasant change from the chilly nights that have become more and more frequent, a reminder that winter is drawing closer and closer. The flowers are beautiful and fragrant, filling the air with the smells of a dying summer.

Sansa walks with her head held high and her hands clasped in front of her. She is ever the lady, Tyrion thinks, it's evident even in the way she moves. He is stunted and ugly next to her, his gait a waddle; what a ridiculous-looking pair they must be, Tyrion thinks bitterly.

Tyrion's legs are cramping. He waddles over to a stone bench, and sits. Sansa sits next to him, as far away from him as possible without causing offense. She sits stiffly, graceful but uncomfortable, as though she would rather be anywhere but sitting next to the Imp. Tyrion supposes she _would_ rather be anywhere else.

Sansa seems used to long silences, but Tyrion has never found them comfortable. He gropes for the right words to say, words that might evoke a response from his lady wife. Instead, he reaches to his side and plucks a red rose from the bushes surrounding them.

'For you, my lady,' he says, and if he were anyone but himself, it might almost be romantic. Sansa accepts the rose.

'Thank you, my lord,' she says softly, and Tyrion watches her turn the rose over and over in her white hands, her pale eyes fixed on it but far away. She falls back into silence.

'Tyrion,' he says, and she turns to him. 'My name is Tyrion. Please call me Tyrion, Sansa.'

'Yes, my Lord- Tyrion,' she replies.

He is frustrated. He wants to shake her, to break the wall of icy courtesy she hides behind.

Instead he says, exasperated, 'Sansa, I know I'm not the husband of your dreams. I'm twisted and stunted and ugly, and a Lannister besides. But I could be good to you. I could be a kind husband. I would never hurt you.'

Her eyes are fixed on his, and something changes. They are no longer empty, but hardened. The sweet Tully blue of her eyes has turned to Stark ice. She looks as though she is deciding whether or not to speak the words on her lips.

After a moment, she replies. 'King Joffrey once promised he would be good to me. He promised that I would be his lady, his _queen_, and then he had me beaten and shamed in front of the entire court. He promised that he would show my father mercy, and then he had him named traitor and took his head, and made me look at it. He promised that he would love me, and now he tries to kill the family I have left to me.' She turns away, and Tyrion sees that she is blinking back tears. When she turns again to face him, her eyes are wet, but no tears have fallen on her cheeks.

Tyrion grasps at words, unsure, for once in his life, of what to say. Finally, he says, softly, 'I'm- I'm so sorry, Sansa.'

Her eyes are empty again. The moment has passed. 'Thank you, my lord,' she replies politely. She is always so polite.

Tyrion stands up from the bench, and then Sansa. Together they make their way back to their chambers, as the sun begins to set.

Tyrion notices, as they climb the stairs of the Red Keep, that Sansa is still holding the rose he gave her.


End file.
